Hollinger Corp. 

pH as 



The Avatar of Peace 



AND 



Other Poems. 






S. J. MACKNIGHT ^ 

1(1 



BOSTON: 

Pi'iutcd by S/iazvnnit S/cajii Printing Co.. 120 Court St ~ 

i8g6. 



ka 



COPYRIGHT 1896 BY 
S. J. MACKNIGHT. 






^^ 



THE AVATAR OF PEACE. 

"The brazen throat of War had ceased to roar," 
And the armed times had vanished to the past. 
The wolves of "War had vanished, looking back 
Over their shoulders with fierce hungry eyes, 
War with his high-waved hand had bade farewell 
And in departing had saluted Peace . 
And the thin heaven, like a deep, cold sea 
Had closed above him where had sunk his steps. 
Then mighty Peace succeeded to his place, 
A mighty monarch, thronged with ministrants, 
And clothed with beauty high as with a robe, 
Cinctui-ed with power, clothed with splendid state. 
And wearing proudly a bright-jewelled crown. 

Peace made her reign eternal and uptook 
A sceptre sapient which must dure for aye. 
She entered V)y vast doors, whose lintel high 
Seemed even among the'stars of radiant light. 
Among the heights, the hills, the mountains gray, 
Among the lofty slopes, 'mong valleys green. 
Among the sea-like plains and lands far-spread, 
She took her seat, and made those lands her own. 
A mighty, thrilling presence, that of peace — 
A vast pervading pi-esence, full of power. 



THE AVATAR OF PEACE. 

A warder of the morning' and the night, 
A close companion of man's various ways, 
A ruler of the noon-tide and the day, 
And tribute- bearer of the circled year. 

Eternal were those hills, and so was Peace 

Eternal ; they had stood for ag-es past, 

For times unknowable to human tl^ought. 

In cycles of existence, gray and green. 

Covered with woods, with myriad pines and firs, 

With .armies of grave trees pointing to heaven, 

With marshalled hosts of woods, with verdant bowers, 

With rocky sides, with landslips hei-e and there 

To mark some slight mutation — they had stood 

For ages and for ages — aye and aye. 

Among the valleys, when thou lookest up 

Thou seest perhaps some tent, some twilight fire. 

Some culinary kettle hung from poles, 

Horses let loose to graze, men smoking pipes 

Filled with the dried tobacco in their bowls, 

Seated at ease, or 'mong their littered goods 

Seeking things needful for their food and rest. 

The patient steed slow paces, pausing long 

Upon one tuft of verdure, then the next, 

Then striding forth a little, shufHes on. 

And in the distance lie the azui*e hills. 

Oh ! somnolent and restful are these scenes, 

Unlike the bloody scenes of strife and war ! 

Eternal are the mountains in their past, 

And seems the sovran Peace entwined with them, 

Pai't of their being and to last for aye. 

The casual smoke ascending from the fire 

Seems as a sort of incense to this god. 

The chirping grasshopper a chorister 

Seems in the sanctuary of this god's fane. 

The low of beast, the whirrings of the wind. 

The beatings of some vagabond bird's wing 

Seem sistrums for this worship. And the air 

Which spreads about our heads, our very feet 

Which lives about the tent, the ox, the fire, 



THE ATATAR OF PEACE. 

Which hug-s the oedai', which wraps round the oak, 
Which washes cattle's walls, and crag-gy rocks, 
Which rides upon the backs of highest hills, 
Which dwelleth in expanse from clouds to sods, 
Which high above the clouds does still rejoice, 
This air, this home of spirits, seems a part 
Of this sweet deity whose strains I sing. 

Then had the very clods, when Peace arrived 

Become enamoured of her beauteous reign. 

The various humblest flowers of the field 

Gave forth their various perfumes in her praise. 

The skies above seemed smiling on the earth 

In sweet approval and in bonds of love. 

The idle lily stood, the red rose hung. 

The tangled grass bent with the rustling wind. 

Great gifts of silence rested on the earth, 

And the child's prattle was of War no more. 



A POETICAL MEDITATION ON BRYANT'S THANATOPSIS. 



A POETICAL MEDITATION ON BRYANT'S 
THANATOPSIS. 

The earth, so speaks the poet, is the gi:ave 
Of all those myriad legions who have passed 
Through life into the portals gray of death. 
Earth is the sepulchre, the beauteous home 
Of those who have departed, and of those 
Who shall depart to that same sepulchre. 
The very elements that deck this earth 
Compounded are fi-om our frail human dust. 
And so he sings, if one conceive a harp 
To attend the movements of so grave a voice. 
That when we face those portals we should come 
Like who lie down to dreams and courteous sleep, 
And wrap around them gannents of repose. 

Pain and disease, repulsiveness, decay 

May be the ushers of that final state, 

And disappointment with its potent harms 

Or want, with its sharp flail may be the guide 

That leads thee to these chambers ; yet I deem 

The author of our text does well to dull 

And shroud these matters when he speaks of this; 

To fix his eye on what of dignity 

Of grandeur and of beauty the theme aftbrds; 

To fortify the mind against mean foes ; 

To nurture resignation ; to endow 

Death's hideous form with splendor and with peace. 

So travel, he says, that when thou needs must join 

The caravan that seeks the climes of death 

Thou go not like the galley-slave mucli scourged 

But pass within rather with chastened mirth. 



A POin ICAL MEDITATION ON BRYANT S THANATOFSIS. ; 

Ilajipy are tliey wlio 'mid tlie eng-rossing- cai'os, 

The interests, ambitions, sehemes, (^f life. 

Amid the noise, the tui'moil, the distress 

Can find some consolation from a pag-e 

Such as this poet's befoi'e ns; who can find 

liy walking- to the fields, tasting- the air 

A source of benediction ; who can leave 

The pettiness of daily life l)ehind. 

And rise to loftier and more wholesome views; 

Can hold communion with the long-gone past 

And v.'ith the vague-shown future yet" to come; 

Who can comV)ine those epochs into one; 

Who can absent themselves from present cares, 

And look on earth as being one mighty temple. 

Tlie hills, he says, the rivei s, valleys, brooks. 

The aged v\'oods. the sighing ocean's waste, 

They ai-e but porticms of the tomb of man. 

The sun, the stars, the "infinite host of heaven" 

"Shine on the abodes of death." Yet from this thought 

He docs not draw depression or despair. 

It yields him i-ather fragrance, comfort, hope, 

Beatitude, and solace, pleasure, peace, 

Like honey yielded from the gaping jaws 

Where, in a skeleton, bees built their nest. 

So shait thou rest, he savs; thou shalt lie down 

With pati'iarchs of the infant world, with kings. 

With hoary seers, with all the wise and good. 

And when the time shall come, thou shalt be joined 

Year after year by a long cavalcade. 

What if thou die unheeded ? All will come — 

The gay, the sad, the phantom-chasing souls 

The old, the young, the strong, the weak will come; 

Their mii-th and their employments they shall leave 

And make their bed beside thee. Thou shalt rest 

In the sweet l)osom of this sombrous tomb. 

The flippant and the fickle may hiugh on; 

Their chin-u]i soon is ended; enemies 

Can ne i)ursue us further; and that goal 

Is as an infinite ocean-main of peace. 

So travel, he says, that when tliou needs must join 

That caravan, thou go not like the slave 



() QI:IX<)TK\s HARAN<il'K ON THE fiOLDKX A(iE. 

But rather joyfully and full of faith 

Approach thy grave like one lying down to sleep. 



QUIXOTE'S HARANGUE ON THE GOLDEN 
AGE. 

FROM CERVANTES. 

Sancho, since the sun declines, 
And tumbles in yon purple west, 
We shall ne village seek to-night; 
The open skies have no affright; 
Me likes the canopy of heaven, 
To watch the wain-stars seven. 

Our hopes now sinking with the sun 
How opportune yon goat-herds' tents ! 

1 do rejoice; cease thou to grieve. 
How gi'aciously they us receive ! 

We with these herdsmen spend the night. 
With fame I them requite. 

Lo yonder kettle where the smoke 
Ascends towards the cerulean sky. 
We eat; the wine-horn circles round; 
From sheep-skins spread upon the ground 
Our hunger is at length appeased , 
And acorns tinish off the feast. 



QUIXOTE'S HARANGIE ON THE GOLDEN AGE. 

Sit, Sancho, by your lord's rig-ht hand, 

These hei-dsmen good shall see that squires 

Of errant knights are not despised. 

Ye herdsmen good be not surprised. 

Sandio, the second skin of wine 

Thou watchest with those eyes of thine. 

Good herdsmen, the umbrageous oak, 
King of the forested campaign, 
We thank for these delicious seeds. 
This acorn feast within me breeds 
For high discourse a pregnant theme, 
Of lofty thoughts a fruitful stream. 

Know ye, simple goat- herd souls, 
A time was, called the Golden Age, 
In fair days of remotest Eld. 
Man's labour then was uncompelled. 
Happy those days, happy those times, 
Unvexed by any sordid crimes. 

We read in authors most antique 
IIow men lived then in habits meek 
And simple; even the homely plough 
Tore not our mother's b)-east as now 
Who gave her boons without request 
To those who then her soil possessed. 

Happy those days, happy those times. 
The mind, my friends, looks oft behind. 
We wander through those courts of time : 
Their inlluence, like a pleasant chime, 
Transports us; eat your humble cheese; 
We sit here, 'neath these shades, in ease. 

Happy those days, happy those times, 
Happy those golden days now gone. 
What can we do but sit and grieve 
As banished souls without reprieve? 
Yet. herdsmen, do not grieve too much ; 
Let sad regret your minds but touch. 



Q'lXo li-: ;^ ll\[lAS:iK ox T![!i (iOI.DKX AC!-:. 

ii;i]>py tiiose i^'olden days, iliose times, 
A glimpse, us tVom some poet's pag-e 
()]■ jiaiiiter's canvaF-, iilis my mind : 
I see the rough posts, tendi'il-twined, 
The rough roofs over-hiid with Lark 
Beneath some fo]-est-shadow dark. 

I see the youths, the maidens gay 

Clad only with a dress of leaves 

All goods were common ; travellers fai-ed 

Unarmed and careless ; no man dared. 

Or wished to injure Or defi'aud. 

Lone virgins roamed the country hroad. 

Contrast this with the modei-n woi-ld ; 
How greed and evil creep apace! 
The weak are robbed, the lawless seek 
To ruin ; wdiere are found the meek ? 
The traveller wanders on his way 
"Watchful of harm by night and day. 

I see some lonely forest-sward, 

Bathed with the shades of sombrous ti-ees. 

The children of this solitude - 

By low-roofed habitations rude 

Or in the open glades at ease 

Stand grouped in attitudes of peace. 

Happy those golden days now gone ; 
That child-like innocence is fled. 
0, Sancho Panza, we must weep — 
Youi- eye-lids heavy are with sleep — 
Must weej-* that those days ne'er return, 
Howe'er our longing hearts may burn. 

It seems as if some wizard's wand 
Had driven away those scenes of bliss — 
Had left behind but mire and clay. 
We find naught like it hei-e to-day 
Ai-ound this savoui-y pot, these skins 
We weep. Day ceases. Night begins. 



Haj^py those golden days now gone. 
As day deceases, night descends. 
The glorious stars come one by one. 
The moon informs that day is done. 
The peaceful ox lies down to rest 
'Neath the high mansions of the blest. 



GONDEL. 

FOUNDED ON POE's " CITY IN THE SEA.' 

"Whithei", wide-winged albatross, 
Sailing the dark seas acr0^, 

Dost thou cleave thy airy path?" 
"Perhaps I fly, man,' who can tell? 
To the city of Gondel." 



Deep in a tract most desolate. 
On ocean's bosom most ingrate, 

Stands the tremendous tower of gi'ay, 
Hewn four-square like a campanile, 
A great tower on a low flat isle. 

Up soars this tower it seems for miles. 
Around it rise the other piles 

Of desolation and decay. 
The spacious isle from l)ound to bound 
Seems all cme city, towered around. 



10 



Never the sun with even ii glint 
(irives of his light a slightest hint 
To this poor island of the waste. 
The sea is always hushed around. 
The winds moan with a muflled sound. 

Always the ocean belt is calm. 

The winds bring on their wings no balm. 

No smile bedecks those waters drear. 
Deep in the ocean's heart do dwell 
Those sad walls of the dread Gondel. 

city of abiding death, 

About whose domes there comes no breath 

Of life, no ministiy of light. 
About whose bournes there wash but seas 
Of quietude though not of peace ! 

The mariner through weary leagues 
■Misses the object which he seeks. 

He wallows through the troughs and foams. 
He flounders through the East and West, 
Nor tinds this island so unblest. 

Deeply mysterious is the place 
As if its form it would ei-ase. 

Perhaps the isle retreats or sinks 
Whenever an approaching bark 
Would fain the city's gray towers mark. 

They wander thither through the waste. 
But miss the island in their haste. 

They let the gray towers pass astern . 
island of the distant sea 
The steersman cannot come to thee ! 



THE CAltDKX. 11 



. / 

THE GARDEN. 

Within a venerable wall 

There stood a garden, whose high trees 

Rose here and there; a sweet expanse, 

In whose retreats a nymph might dance; 

Luxurious acres full of flowers; 

Mazes and arbours, not too trim, 

And fountains plashing o'er their brim. 

There stood the bust of antique Pan 
With othci- sculptures 'mong the flowers. 
The ground was high ; thou iookedst out 
On hills and mountains round about ; 
And stately seats stood in the shade, 
By level walks near alleys green. 
Nought in this pleasaunce was there mean. 

From the hill slopes the wall upclomb; 
Thou sawest through breaks a city's towers. 
The wall stopped pot the butterfly. 
Who holds the freedom of the sky ; 
And twittering birds stood in the trees 
Fi'om high looked down upon the sods 
Cyl;ele, mother of the gods. 

Much marble was there round the founts, 

And floors mosaic near the seats. 

The shapely trees stood round in crowds, 

And high above did roam the clouds 

Of a serene and happy sky. 

The aged tree- tops lived among 

Those heavens which seemed so fair and youni 



12 THE (tARDEN. 

Thoii enteredst liy the i;><^steri-i g-ate, 
Or 1)7 the mansion-house near by. 
Perhaps some wine mii!,ht wait for thee 
Beneath the most ancestral tree, 
Or g-rapes g-rew in the genial air, 
Or incense from some bi'azier rose, 
Or sprinkled perfumes met the nose. 

Textures of tinest robes were there. 

The sloven passed not through those ii'ates. 

The bee flew with his "honeyed thigh" 

Above, athwart, the passer-by. 

One found the alcoves 'neath the trees, 

One sauntered down the alleys green 

Or paused in glades that came Ijetween. 

Time journeyed idly in that place. 

The hours slipped by with silk-shod feet. 

Companions in the cool recess 

Or round the fountain lounged, I guess. 

The story-teller smilingly 

Lingered upon his courteous theme, 

And watched the dial in the gleam. 

Or the grave reader, lingering long 
Held in his lap some author's m it, 
And pondered musingly the leaves 
Bound in some book, like harvest sheaves, 
And slowly passed from sheaf to sheaf, 
He builded of his thoughts, I guess, 
Some castle-tower of idleness. 

Brightly the sun shone on his youth. 
He watched the spaces of the sky. 
He and his friends rose and forsook 
This precinct ; and if thou didst look 
Thou sawest their robes float in the wind. 
Loud laughter musically died 
To stillness as along they hied. 

Oh in those golden hours of ease 
How in that fine-veined marble seat 



13 



The leaves gave shadow of their form. 
In that blue sky there was no storm. 
The friends perhaps retraced their stejJS 
To where the curious fountains spurt, 
And with the air in bead-drops flirt. 

Also there fell in deep festoons 
The long gay arms of creeping plants ; 
And from the wall a distant sea 
Gleamed out afar it seems to me, 
With undulating lands between ; 
And from the wall a slow descent 
Led to the highway where all went. 



AUTUMN. 

Autumn sere, whose string the wild wind whisketh 

With sombre notes like harp ^olian, 

The harpings of whose string are sadder than 

Summer's loud song; whose visitings the wind 

Toucheth with tremulations as it flies. 

Or as it lurks, or the sad string o'er-frisketh ! 

Thou Autumn comest with thy gorgeous train ; 

Thy sheaves, thy woods, thy garnished plains arise. 

Thy splendid azure beameth from thy skies. 

To join thy song the bird his fleet wing risketh. 

With glory thou adorn' st the wide champaign. 

Bound in vermilion comes thy vesture-chain. 



J4 'I!1K liKAClI AT I.YjV 



THE BEACH AT LYNN. 

Forever raging-, ceasing- ne, 
Drift on the billows of the sea, 
And on the sands towards far Nahant 
The raving waters rage and pant, 
Foaming in ranks of three and foui- 
Along this fair expanse of shore. 
Bringing to thee thy Avaves. Lynn, 
Harmonious with old Ocean's din. 
The Avhite sails wandei- on the deep, 
Andinnthefar horizon creej). 
The light-honse rock, a citadel, 
And warder of the bay may dwell 
Serenely while the sun shines on, 
And frown the ocean's dej^ths upon. 
Like rocks but mightier did the sage 
Ulysses, in the storied j^age 
Pass, when around his dark-hulled craft 
The holy ocean's wavelets laughed; 
When he to Circe's isle did roam. 
And wandered by the Sirens' home. 



T. IIF.LKX S TSl.AXn. >rflNTREAl 



5T. HELEN'S ISLAND, MONTREAL. 

Ah, bring- me to those sun-lit waves 
Where Death's still rivei' flows not by, 

But where the smiling sun-god paves 
The waters like his radiant sky. 

Trifling may seem the frail canoe, 
And low the slender islets green, 

And wide the foaming waters blue 

May iilide their verdant banks between. 

For aye they flow, forever run, 

Forever thus fall on the ear; 
For aye the foam- flakes greet the sun, 

In seasons of the green or sere. 

When June bedecks yon elmy bournes 
Then too the river fairest flows ; 

Then as it breaks, the water mourns, 
And chimingly along it goes. 



1() NOVA SCOT TAN WOODS. 

NOVA 3C0TIAN WOODS. 

To-day mild summer's mildest sun 

Smiles in the upper air; 
And in the woods the sounds of leaves 

Scarce die on breezes dare; 
And through the woods which skirt its track 

Clang-s on the railway-car; 
And calls her train the partridge hen 

'Neath sky-bournes blue and fair. 

The feathered fowls rejoice the sky 

Whose winds their carols bear. 
The alder mazes round the road 

In dark green vistas glare. 
The seed-fluff" from the high-stalked stem 

The wandering bi-eezes tear, 
Wandering on grassy cai'peting 

'Neath sky- lands blue and fair. 



MOONRISE AT HALIFAX. 

Thou hast remembered, Luna, to appear 
At thy dread hour above yon sombrous isle 
Named of MacNab, nor hast forgot thy targe 
Of warfare, coloured with a lurid red. 
So should the poet's pen, with such bright hues, 
Dipped in thy carmine, or when thou ascend' st, 
Dipped in thy mellow gold, paint Nature's moods, 
Or man's more worthy actions, leaving those 
That are less worthy, to the black of night. 
The gray light of the eventide is liere. 
On mast, and sea, and slowly-moving boat. 
The hour of night approaches ; the dull sounds 
Of unseen wavelets murmur round our feet. 
The wharftnan leaves his labour, and returns 
To land the day-long tisher of the deep. 



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